I need something else. Something to drown it out.
Ezra’s arms tighten, but stillness isn’t an option. If someone handed me a butter knife, I’d peel my own skin off just to be clean again.
When my nails dig into my arms, Ezra’s shadows curl around my wrist with quiet care. A moment later, his hands cover mine, gently pulling them away before I draw blood.
“Aurora.” Ezra’s voice is soft, catching for just a second. “Are you well?”
“No.” My nails drag down my skin again. “He’s still here. He won’t leave. I can still feel him.”
I shake my head hard. It won’t stop. Won’t leave. He’s under my skin—inside me.
“I need something else. Fuck, I need you. Please.”
I wiggle between his arms until we’re nose to nose, my hand slipping under his sweater, pressing against his chest.
He’s solid … real.
The tension in his muscles shifts beneath my palm, a quiet reminder that he’s alive—thatI’malive.
“Can you help me, Ezra? Please?”
When my hand slides down his stomach toward the zipper on his jeans, he growls, then grabs my wrist.
“Aurora.” Ezra’s voice drops, heavy enough to still the air between us. “If we do this, there’s no going back. Not for me. I won’t know how to let you go.”
Good.
“Please, Ezra. Worship me.”
Ezra’s lips meet mine, and for a second, everything else falls away. But his eyes don’t close. He watches me, like he’s memorizing this … us. And then, just as I lean into him, he pulls away, amusement flickering in his gaze.
“Tell me what you want, Aurora. What you need. What makes you moan.”
He kisses my wrist, and my brain short-circuits.
This is how cults start, isn’t it?
The voice. The eyes. The promise of being his. It’s all too much—and somehow, still not enough.
“You hold the power now. I only want you to feel safe … with me. Like this.”
No one has ever allowed me to take the lead before. Ezra stretches out on his back, his head lolling to the side as he turns toward me, eyebrows raised in silent question.
“You’ll have to use your words, little lupine. I possess a great deal of power, but I do not read minds.”
The lopsided grin he blesses me with makes my stomach flip.
Once again, my body moves without the aid of my brain. My knees fall on either side of Ezra’s hips while I slide my hands beneath his sweater.
As I watch, something flickers at the edge of his shoulder. A sliver of shadow curls like a fiddlehead, then vanishes beneath Ezra’s ink.
Another tendril slinks toward me, but retreats just as fast, caught red-tentacled.
Are they … showing him off?
They totally are.
Like,look at our shadow dad! Aren’t you impressed?
